Batman: The Mechanic
by iammemyself
Summary: When Jonathan's truck breaks down on his way out of Georgia, he ends up in the shop manned by a charming mechanic who cuts him a break and broadens his life in ways he'd never even dreamed of. (Edward as a mechanic AU; transgender Edward) Warnings: Internalised/indoctrinated homophobia, indoctrinated transphobia


'The Mechanic'

By Indiana

 **Characters: Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane [Scriddler]**

 **Synopsis: When Jonathan's truck breaks down on his way out of Georgia, he ends up in the shop manned by a charming mechanic who cuts him a break and broadens his life in ways he'd never even dreamed of. (Edward as a mechanic AU)**

 **Warnings: Internalised/indoctrinated homophobia, indoctrinated transphobia**

What good was a scholarship if you couldn't even get to the school to use it?

Jonathan had been walking along the side of the road for hours. He had abandoned the boarding house in Georgia with nothing but a pickup truck that had been his only solace for a great many years. He knew, on some level, what he'd done was foolish. He had so little money it barely qualified as 'savings', he had nowhere to go when he arrived at his destination, and the only clothes he had were those he had thrown into the truck at random and forgotten to take to the laundromat. He was exhausted, but moreso very, very angry. The truck could have broken down at any time in the last ten years and he would not have cared, but now, _now_ that he was _finally_ out of there, it decided to stop running.

He finally came upon a small shop and trudged up the driveway. The garage doors were open, the interior holding about four vehicles of different make and model, and though it seemed old it was neat and clean. None of this improved his mood in the slightest, for it appeared to be empty. Abandoned, even.

"Of _course_ the only place I can find lacks a mechanic!" he muttered, his lips thinning. He turned to leave. There came a noise behind him and he moved his head to look, and he froze there because on a dolly in front of the minivan was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

"I don't lack a mechanic," the man said, fixing his brown eyes on Jonathan's face, "but you appear to be lacking your manners."

Jonathan had no answer to that, because he also seemed to be lacking his voice. The other's brief sentence had been pronounced with curated care, the lilt of an accent Jonathan didn't know colouring it slightly. It was so much more pleasant than anything Jonathan could produce.

The man stood up and removed a rag from the back pocket of his coveralls, wiping off his hands cursorily. The light outside was rapidly dimming, but his smooth black hair caught and held what was left. Jonathan was unexplainably self-conscious about the tangled brown mess on top of his own head.

"What can I do for you?" the other asked, poking the cloth back into his pocket, and Jonathan had to force himself to remember why he was here in the first place.

"My… truck. It broke down," was all he was able to say. The man looked around.

"Where is it?"

"I left it and walked here."

The other man stared at him.

"You left your truck on the side of the road and walked here."

Jonathan gathered this was not the smartest thing to do in such a situation, but what was he _supposed_ to have done? Even if he'd _had_ a phone, whom would he have called? "I had no choice," he said stiffly. The other grimaced and rubbed at his cheek, leaving a smear of oil there. It did not at all affect his appearance.

"Were you having any problems with it before?"

"I was not."

"We can hope it just overheated, then," the man said, and in a series of smooth movements he steppe d out of the green coveralls he had had rolled around his waist. He hung them up in a cupboard and from it removed a set of keys. "Come on. If it's still there I'll see if it can be fixed on location."

Jonathan followed him to a black coupe, seemingly brand-new, and the man drove it out of the building before going back to close the doors. Jonathan kept having the irrational urge to watch him. Why should he? He was a stranger, providing Jonathan a service. He was being strange.

"All right," the man said, climbing back in and closing the door. He fit into the seat a great deal better than Jonathan did; he was at least six inches shorter and, Jonathan noted for some reason, lean but strong. "Where is the truck?"

"I don't know," Jonathan answered. "I just walked straight down the road until I got here."

The man sighed as he pressed a button next to the steering wheel, and Jonathan was confused to see the car start. He didn't see the keys anywhere. "I hope you know what kind of truck you were driving, at least?"

"A Ford F-150. Blue and white."

"Oh," the man said, wrinkling his nose. "We'll be lucky if _that's_ still there."

"I have the keys," Jonathan protested, and the other man looked at him as though he wanted to remove him from the vehicle altogether.

"That's nice," was all he said. "I never got your name, by the way."

"Jonathan." He really _had_ been lacking his manners.

The other man gripped the steering wheel with his left hand, offering his right to Jonathan. "Edward," he said, and when Jonathan took the presented hand, Edward's grip was firm and strong. He had the bizarre thought that he didn't want to let go, and immediately did so.

The road it had taken Jonathan so long to traverse was easily conquered by car, though Jonathan had to point the truck out because Edward missed it for some reason. Edward turned around with a frankly impressive skill and pulled up in front of the truck. He got out and looked at it, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I can see why you weren't concerned anyone would steal it," he said finally.

"Why?" Jonathan asked. Edward reached around him into the passenger side and stuck his hand into the glovebox. They were almost touching, and Jonathan had to ask himself why he had noticed that.

"It looks like somebody abandoned it because it's thirty years old," Edward answered, standing in front of it again with a very bright flashlight. "This model is… mid-eighties, right?"

"Yes." Jonathan wondered how he knew that. Edward lifted the hood and looked inside the cavity below it.

"We're gonna hope," he called back, "that you're just out of water, and I can put some in here and you can drive it down to the shop and I'll take a look at this in the morning. If –"

"That isn't possible," Jonathan said. Edward frowned over his shoulder.

"Why?"

"This truck is all I have. I cannot leave it anyplace. I need to use it as soon as possible."

"It's all you have," Edward repeated, quieter. Oh, damn. Jonathan did not even have the money to _pay_ for this.

 _I should have just stayed in_ –

"Getting away from something?"

Jonathan did not want to answer the question. It was too personal, and he would be forced to reveal too much of himself to a stranger whose name was the only thing he knew. But he was out of options. "Yes."

Edward tapped his fingers against the hood. "The problem is, this thing is likely a danger to everyone who so much as crosses its path. I'm surprised it's even running. It probably needs major work, and I can just pour some water in here and call it a day, but…"

"But?"

"There's no damage from road salt on this vehicle."

Jonathan had no idea what road salt even _was_. "And?"

Edward turned around. "This truck has never seen a true winter. And if it's all you have, that implies you're planning on _living_ in it. It's not going to last that long. It is going to break down on you again, and sooner than you think."

Shit.

Jonathan found himself leaning against the back end of the coupe. He'd thought he was finally turning his life around, only to find it was about to get a whole lot worse.

"Where are you going?" Edward asked.

"The city," Jonathan answered, wondering why it made a difference. "I have a scholarship for the university."

Edward stared into the engine block in silence. There were few cars travelling by at this hour, but those that did slowed down marginally to look.

"I have somewhere for you to stay," Edward said, startling Jonathan a little. "I have… an apartment, with a spare room. You can use it."

"What?" That made no sense! Why would he –

"You're getting out of a rough situation and you're trying to better yourself," Edward said, motioning for Jonathan to move off his car. He lifted the trunk lid and removed a jug of water. "I did that once." He twisted the lid off the container and tipped a good amount of it into some reservoir within the truck.

"And what. Someone did you a like favour?"

"No." He laughed somewhat bitterly. "But I wish someone had."

/

Edward's apartment was populated with tasteful furniture of good quality, and Jonathan was not certain of how much mechanics earned but Edward seemed to be in good standing monetarily. Everything looked brand new. It wasn't particularly _opulent_ , but it was certainly much more than Jonathan had ever had. He had the strong impression he didn't belong there.

"The spare is over there," Edward told him as he kicked off his shoes, pointing at a door across from the foyer. "Make yourself at home, just put back when you take out."

Jonathan opened the door he'd been indicated just to look inside. It was very clean and… he closed the door again. He wished he'd stayed at the shop with the truck.

"The university isn't far from here," Edward was saying, and Jonathan could not explain why he was drawn to the site of him bending over to search for something in a kitchen cabinet. "It'd take a while to walk but you seem no stranger to that." He tossed a smile over his shoulder and stood up with a pot in hand.

"What?" Jonathan said, unable to quite process what he'd said.

"The university," Edward said, and he pointed in the direction of the glass sliding doors, beyond which was a decently-sized balcony. "It's right there."

"I… shouldn't be staying that long."

"You have something lined up?"

"I can't stay _here_ ," Jonathan protested. Live in such close quarters with a man he didn't even know? That was just _foolish_.

Edward placed the pot, which he had poured some quantity of water into, on one of the stove's front burners. "You said you didn't have anywhere to go. And you don't have a job, nor do you have any means of getting one."

"For all you know I'm a violent criminal, escaped from prison."

Edward laughed, and it sent a warmth into his stomach. "I think if it were to come to it, I could take you out without much trouble. But it won't come to it. People have tenants they don't know in their houses all the time. Just don't leave a mess and we're good."

Well. Maybe he'd overreacted a little bit. Edward had a point. He seemed to think he and Jonathan were kindred spirits of a sort, and they could have been, given what had led to Edward's offer in the first place.

Jonathan, when he tried to later, could not recall what they'd eaten that night. He didn't even remember anything that had been said across the table. He had very distinct recollection of Edward's easy smile, his graceful hands and the rhythm of his voice. All of which was incredibly disturbing. He had no idea what was going on. That wasn't like him at all. He was usually so much more attentive to detail, to mannerisms and inflections. But he didn't recall any of it.

He couldn't sleep that night. That was normal. Sleep had never come easily. The reason, however, was not.

The reason being Edward.

He could not stop _thinking_ about him. And he could not figure out _why_.

/

He didn't know why he was still living there.

It had taken Edward about a week to repair the truck to his satisfaction, under Jonathan's… he was hesitant to call it 'supervision', considering he knew nothing about vehicular maintenance. There was also the odd proclivity his mind had to wander off into wondering what Edward liked to do when he _wasn't_ fixing cars. He hadn't actually been able to work out why he _cared._ This partnership was temporary, and borne out of some sort of empathetic pity. Edward had mentioned offhand he was not from the city, nor the country altogether; he had made his way down there from Canada with even less than Jonathan had had.

He was, then, incredibly intelligent, ambitious, and brave. All things Jonathan found himself… _liking._ He might just have been willing to call them friends, if their circumstances hadn't confused him so much.

Edward had, at the appropriate time, aided Jonathan in the university preparations; Jonathan's protestations fell on deaf ears when he discovered Edward had covered the cost of his textbooks outright and had offered him a stipend for supplies.

"Why are you doing this?" he had asked, in complete and utter confusion.

"Why are you going to school?" Edward had asked in turn.

"To better myself."

"I'm doing it because I want to help you better yourself. I don't need a reason other than that."

Jonathan had supposed that he didn't, but that did not abate his confusion whatsoever.

After the semester began Jonathan did his best to keep separate from Edward, but that was very difficult because Edward would often invite him to lunch or suggest he come to the shop to study, and for some reason Jonathan never _actually_ wanted to say no. He was spending a _lot_ of time with who was effectively a very generous landlord, and Edward seemed very unfazed and nonchalant about it. They talked mostly about Jonathan's studies or Edward's work that day, and they seemed to have silently agreed that their histories were not up for discussion. Jonathan was relating the witty intelligence of one of his professors – who reminded him a great deal of Edward, when he considered it – when he noticed Edward was leaning against the SUV behind him in quite a sombre way.

"What," he had interrupted himself. Edward had shaken his head.

"I don't know where you're from," he had said, "but I do know it was far from tolerant."

Jonathan's brows had come together. "What does that mean?" Why had Edward's eyes become decidedly morose? And… why did Jonathan want to do something about it?

"I hope you find out soon," was Edward's only answer, and Jonathan had spent the entirety of the remainder of that day running through what had been said and coming up with nothing.

/

Edward did not spent a lot of time in the apartment during the day that Jonathan knew of; he disliked being on someone else's property alone so Jonathan did his best to keep away. One afternoon, however, Jonathan was so exhausted by a recent spate of sleepless nights that he went back there much earlier than usual with intentions of taking a nap, if such a thing were possible. It often wasn't. What he did _not_ expect to find was Edward sitting on the edge of his bed and carefully injecting a syringe into his upper thigh. It felt as though this entire, interesting and beneficial new world he had stumbled across had suddenly fallen out from beneath him. This man he had been growing to admire and respect was _just like all of the people he'd left -_

"You're on _drugs?_ " Jonathan demanded, taking a step back. Edward took a long breath, putting the needle aside and pushing down his pantleg.

"I suspect you'd be more forgiving if I were. But no. It's testosterone."

Oh God. Oh God oh God.

"You're a woman?" Jonathan asked, and somehow it felt like he had been pushed from someplace very high and had no hope of his fall being broken. Edward grimaced.

"No. I'm a man. You're a psychologist, you should be able to understand wires get crossed sometimes. I have to do a few things to correct it. That's all. Believe me, I wish I didn't have to do it either."

He was right. It _would_ have been easier if it had been drugs. He let his shoulder bag thunk to the floor. "It's not _right_."

"There are a lot of things that aren't right with the world," Edward said, standing up, "but what I am isn't one of them." He crossed the space between them to put one of his hands on Jonathan's shoulder, and he recoiled immediately, a rebuke on his lips. "Look. I understand if this is difficult for you to terms with. It's not the only thing you need to sort out with yourself. But if you can't see past something as simple as a mixup in my brain chemistry, we're going to have to part ways." His eyes were solemn. "I genuinely hope it doesn't come to that."

"What?" Jonathan said, turning as Edward made his way towards the door. "I have nothing to _sort out_."

"You're not in Nowheresville, Georgia anymore, Jon," Edward told him, shrugging on his jacket. "You can be gay now. It's all right."

" _What?_ " That wasn't true. That was patently _ridiculous._ "I'm not – "

"I'm not going to argue about it," Edward interrupted. "Think it over. Think it all over."

Jonathan did not move until several minutes after the door was locked behind him, and even then he only walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down. No. No, Edward was wrong. Jonathan was certainly _not gay_ , and Edward – good God, that wasn't even his _real name –_

Edward had lied to him. About everything. The only other option was that he was so delusional he believed he was a man, and yet that couldn't hold. He was too intelligent for that. To wilfully wreak havoc upon your body was something one planned far in advance; it couldn't be done on a dizzy whim.

But if Jonathan had not seen otherwise, he would have taken Edward to be a man for the rest of his life. Delusions did not spread past the person who created them. It never would have crossed his mind he'd ever been anything else, and even now, trying to imagine what Edward _really_ was, whom he'd _really_ been, he found… he couldn't. He discovered that he had deposited his head into his hands and removed his glasses. All right. If he took this at face value, and accepted that Edward was not merely insane and that there truly had been some misfiring in his brain during prenatal development, then the problem was… Jonathan.

He balked from this thought initially, but moved that aside. It was an automatic reaction. Just as his behaviour towards today's revelation had been. He had to think deeper. The question he needed to be asking himself was not 'why does Edward think he is a man when he was born a woman', but 'why does it bother me so much'?

He sat up straighter to think about that one. All of the conversations about such a thing that he could remember had been outstandingly negative. He couldn't recall a single time he'd ever heard anyone consider the other side of it. He actually felt ashamed for a moment. How appallingly unscientific of him! Basing his beliefs on hearsay from people with a clear bias? And upholding them in front of a… a man who had been nothing but courteous and kind to him? He rubbed his forehead tiredly. God. How foolish. How stupid. How… ignorant.

His throat attempted to force down saliva that wasn't there. He was beginning to realise Edward had had every right to be upset with him. To have words with him and send him off for being so ill-informed. But he hadn't. He'd expected it. He probably… had to deal with that a lot. He'd been waiting for Jonathan to react the way he had. He'd been resigned to it. And he had accepted it as the deal-breaker it had doubtless been for him so many times.

It wasn't. But this led into the other problem. The one he wanted to think about even less, the one that sickened him to even _try_ to believe was true. He'd put that aside for now. He didn't need to rush it. It could wait.

/

"You're still here?"

Jonathan looked up. He was still sitting on the bed, and had not noticed the passing of the time. He blinked at the light in the hallway. "…Yes," he said. Edward stepped into view and Jonathan's breath became scarce.

"Are you ready to _accept_ me, then?" he asked sardonically, as though he'd faced this situation a thousand times before and simply no longer _cared_ what the other party had to say about it, and all Jonathan could come up with was what had been on his mind for some time now.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. And he had nothing else to follow that up with, though he felt as though he probably should. Edward sat down next to him with a great deal of gravity.

"That's a first." Edward scratched the back of his head. "I admit it. I was disappointed. But –"

"You don't have to justify anything," Jonathan cut in. "I was wrong and I apologise. That's all."

Edward put a hand on his arm, and he had to fight the urge to pull it away. A little because he was still convincing himself there was nothing wrong with what Edward had done, but mostly because he liked it there too much.

"I don't care about your history if you don't care about mine," Edward told him, and he stood up again. He rummaged in the bedside table drawer for a pack of cigarettes. "And Jonathan?"

"Mm."

"If there's nothing wrong with me," Edward said, rounding the bed and heading for the glass door, "there's nothing wrong with you."

"I'm not – "

But Edward had already closed the door, and he didn't believe Jonathan anyway. He slid his fingers together.

He couldn't be right. Could he?

Of course he wasn't. Jonathan just had not met the right woman yet, that was all. It was taking a while but he would, eventually, and then all of this nonsense would be settled.

He lay awake again that night, eyes fixed on the fan above him. All he kept thinking was, _Edward is in the other room._

Edward with his strong hands. His soft hair. The sharp eyes he would never, ever forget, even if he left here right now and never saw him again.

 _I'm not gay_ , he told himself. But it was starting to sound hollow. Weak. He was very confident that most men did not lie in bed trying to prevent themselves from remembering the gentle touch of a hand on their arm. What on earth was he going to do about this? Leave? He _should_ just do that. It would solve everything.

/

He was trying very hard not to watch him, and failing.

Edward was contentedly replacing the shocks on a badly maintained hatchback, and Jonathan was studying. Or he was supposed to be. It was difficult to do that when his eyes insisted on straying. Admiring the grease streaking Edward's hard-working arms, the thoughtful motions of his fingers as he selected this tool or that item. And not wanting to stop.

He was getting a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. _This isn't normal_ , he kept telling himself, unable to resist the temptation to visually trace the lean muscle so visible on Edward's arms. _I shouldn't be doing this._ It was so _sinful_.

He kept thinking that, though he had sworn off religion years ago. Just how deep had such words been ingrained into him? Why did he _care_ if something were sinful if he did not believe in sin? There was no one to _berate_ him here, or recite scripture, or –

"We need to talk," Edward said, and Jonathan's focus snapped back to his surroundings. He looked down at his papers in an attempt to gather his thoughts.

"About?"

"You keep staring at me." Edward hitched himself up onto the front of his desk, folding one leg over the other and turning to face Jonathan. "That's fine. You should be. But you're only hurting yourself by doing it."

"Why? Because you think I'm –" With Edward's eyes fixed on him like that, he couldn't even finish the sentence.

"I feel sorry for you," Edward said. "How are you going to confront other people's fears when you're afraid of what you are?" He walked over to a shelf behind them and pulled down a grey rag, rubbing it across his fingers.

"How weren't you?" Jonathan asked quietly, without meaning to. Edward looked at him.

"I never said I wasn't. But you know… there's a time you have to realise that you can't keep living for other people. In any way. You'll never satisfy them all. You'll never make all of them happy. And you aren't supposed to." He shrugged. "It isn't easy all the time. But I decided it was easier than pretending."

"I'm not pretending."

Edward held up one finger. "No. You are in very, very heavy denial, making the _transition_ to pretending. But that's the thing." He put his hands down on the desk and leaned forward to look Jonathan in the eye again. "Skip it. There's no need to do that. We're friends, aren't we? You can trust me. I'm not going to condemn you as a rotten, amoral sinner if you try to hold my hand."

He would like very much to do that, he thought, before he had a chance to stop himself.

"I'll give you something to think about," Edward said, and he put one hand very softly alongside Jonathan's face. He was too violently anxious just then to do anything about it, but all Edward did was brush his lips – and that was all it was, they barely touched him at all – to Jonathan's brow, and then he returned to the car. Jonathan did not even watch him this time, because his heart was in his throat and besides that all he could feel in his entire body was that nearly negligent spot where Edward had… had…

He was unable to move for a good twenty minutes.

When he found it in him to turn his head, Edward was reattaching the wheels to the car and Jonathan was again struck by the impulse to watch. He instead cleared his throat and looked down at the desk.

"Are you having dinner?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Edward said, laughing, and upon review Jonathan discovered his question did not have all the words it was supposed to have. He didn't know how to salvage it.

"The real question is," Edward went on, "are you having it _with_ me?"

 _We work together so well._

He put his head into his hands.

"You can say no."

 _Why would I want to say no?_

/

That night Jonathan was watching Edward fall asleep in his chair on the balcony, despite the fact he'd just had coffee. Jonathan was supposed to be studying, but this problem had entirely taken over his mind. He couldn't think about anything else at all. There was a line of grease behind Edward's ear he had somehow missed. Jonathan wanted to lick his thumb and clean it off.

"Edward," he said in a low voice. Edward moved his head marginally.

"Mm."

"You have something. Behind your ear."

"So take care of it."

Jonathan sat up straight. "Edward – "

"You're not going to come to terms with it if you don't even try."

"I _am_ trying!" Jonathan snapped. "Do you truly think I can shrug off decades of prejudice in _one day_?" He went to stand up but Edward reached over and grabbed his arm.

"I'm just… impatient," Edward said. Jonathan pushed his free hand into his hair.

"You're going to have to take it easy. You're going to have to wait!"

"All right," Edward said, his calm acceptance both reassuring and infuriating. And Edward went to sleep right there, and Jonathan watched him all night and hated himself for doing it.

/

Jonathan tried to get around it. He really did. He tried to convince himself there was absolutely nothing wrong with… with wanting to be with a man. But now he _knew_ why he'd always admired men who dressed well, who worked hard and fostered their intelligence. Now he _knew_ , and he could not help but feel ashamed of himself for something that simply should have held no shame at all.

In the evening Edward would ask Jonathan to sit next to him on his bed while he watched television – Jonathan had not been able to pay attention yet to anything he'd been watching – and he would try to read his texts but would inevitably be distracted by the fact that he kept trying to imagine himself underneath the blanket next to Edward, instead of sitting all the way on the other side and destined to rise when Edward fell asleep in order to settle into his own cold sheets. This night, quite without thinking about it, Jonathan asked, "What was your name before?"

He could feel Edward staring at him and gathered that was _not_ a good question.

"There _is_ no _before_ ," Edward said, his tone a little harder than Jonathan was expecting. "My name is Edward and it always has been. This is _always_ how I have been. The person you refer to no longer exists, and never should have."

"You can just… leave something like that behind?"

"What else would I do with the life of a person I'm not and never was?" Edward returned his focus to the television. "I'm not talking about it anymore. It's irrelevant."

Jonathan's movement to take his hand was less voluntary than it was a nervous spasm. Edward's eyes were on him again. He felt mildly like he was being run through with electric current, and alongside this had the impression someone was about to berate him for being so perverse.

But nobody was. And nobody should ever have.

"What," Edward said.

"I can do that," Jonathan told him, slowly. The only part of him that seemed to be warm was his palm, still on top of Edward's hand. "I can… leave all of that where it is. And be who I should be."

He almost couldn't believe he'd been trying so hard to deny himself Edward's smile. "Now you're getting it."

Jonathan found it in himself to lean over, and press his lips to the corner of Edward's mouth; that chaste kiss was all he could manage, but the fact he'd done it at all bade well. And when Edward hugged him right into the mattress Jonathan couldn't return the favour, exactly, but he didn't want him to let go, either.

 **Author's note**

 **Dedicated to anyone who needed this. Written in fourteen hours so if there are any glaring mistakes I apologise but this one pretty much banged out itself.**


End file.
